My Beloved Enemy
by Lady Reva
Summary: Adriane must complete a contract which leaves her feeling conflicted about her loyalty. In the end, she knows that she has no choice about the matter. A short drabble which will not be expanded.


_Disclaimer: Sadly, I do not own Oblivion or its characters, settings, or plot ideas. Just as sadly, I am not making a single septim from this, even if my account could really use it._

**My Beloved Enemy**

The great hall at Cloud Top Ruler was quiet. Only the occasional rustle of paper and the soft flickering of the fire interrupted the stillness. It was almost stifling to Ariadne as she stood hidden in the shadows of a pillar, watching the slow movements of Martin's hand as he flipped over page upon page in musty, dusty old manuscripts. How she had earned his trust, she would never know. It almost pained her to think of it. His simple, almost naive trust was addictive. But contract was contract, even if the death of this man might very well mean the end of everything. The Listener must have gone out of his pathetic mind to accept this contract. Or perhaps Sithis knew what would happen? Had he made a deal with Mehrunes which would guarantee her brothers and sister their survival?

Her dagger slipped free of its sheath silently, and the sounds of her movements, slight as those were, were covered by the faint background noise of the room. A sickening feeling in her stomach, she slipped forward towards her mark. _Kill Martin Septim_, her Speaker had told her, _and make your escape from his fortress. _

The two Blades normally standing guard were partially slumped against the wall behind Martin, as her sleeping draught was beginning to work. They were still coherent, but their movements would be sluggish, and their reaction time abysmal. Martin – _her mark_ she corrected herself as she could not afford to think of him as the friend he had become – was wholly unaware of the state of the guards. He was too focused on his work.

To be doubly certain of her success, her body was partially obscured by the chameleon potion she had drunk before slipping into the Great Hall. As much as she would like to think it, she doubted that her escape would be easy.

No more hesitation. It was time to strike.

Keeping her movements fluid, she slipped towards her mark, coming up behind him noiselessly. As in slow motion, she raised her dagger. She would slip it around to his front, moving slowly as to not draw his attention to the telltale ripple of her arm. Chameleon was at best imperfect and a mage such as Martin had once been would recognize it for what it was.

She struggled to control her breathing as she prepared to slit the throat of the man she had come to respect almost as much as her Speaker. Bitterly, she realized that she could have only one loyalty, and this would always be the Dark Brotherhood. Her brothers and sister would accept no less.

The sensation of a hand gripping hers dragged her back to the present reality. An odd numbness slowly spread up her arm from where the hand still gripped her, and with horror she realized that her chameleon had worn off. How sloppy of her. The now visible hand, arm, and dagger were held in Martin's grip.

"Why?" He asked softly as he let go of the hand, and slipped out of his chair to stand behind her. Still she kept her position, glued into place by a strong paralyze spell.

"I had no choice." Words were becoming oddly difficult to speak. Her gaze slipped downwards, as far down as she could, and from the edge of her vision she could spot the draining spell which slowly pulled the life from her body. Not long.

"There is always a choice."

"No Martin. Not when Sithis is your master." She couldn't see him. She wished she could see his reaction to her words, but she could see only the work abandoned before her.

"An assassin?" Why did the betrayed tone in his voice hurt her so?

"Yes. Martin?" It was becoming so hard to keep her train of thought.

"Why?"

"That doesn't matter anymore." Her breath was coming short, as if her lungs were having trouble getting enough air. "I'm glad I didn't succeed." Short wheezing gasps were now punctuated by bloody coughs. That man would have made a deadly and sadistic assassin. The faint tales of his service to Sanguine must have some truth in them. No priest could have killed her in quite such a way. A priest would have yelled for help.

Adriane grasped together the last of her failing strength to speak once more: "There will be other assassins. But those don't know where you are. Not yet."

The paralyze spell wore off, and she toppled forward, collapsing against the chair before slipping onto the floor. From her position she could see Martin's horrified expression. Faint glow of the drain life suddenly vanished as he was faced by her eyes. The almost mundane brown eyes had become somewhat glassy, but still a small hint of her life remained. Those eyes now begged for his forgiveness.

"I can't." He said as he knelt beside her. _Can't what?_ She thought idly. _Can't forgive me, or can't kill me?_ If it were the first, then she could understand. How to forgive someone you had trusted? And she did not expect forgiveness. Her breath was too faint now to tell him that. Not quite in danger of dying now, but too weak to do more than lay there gaze up into the sky blue eyes of the man she had just tried to kill. Blue like the skies of her childhood. Blue like the morning glories climbing up the side of her family home. Blue like sea under a perfectly sunny sky.

"I forgive you." His words were very low, yet it was enough to pull her back to the present moment once again. From the imperfect memories of her perfect childhood, she returned to gaze up at the blue eyes. It was a struggle to shake her head. She didn't deserve forgiveness. Over the years, she had tainted the blue with the darkness in her heart.

"_Please._" What she was asking for, she herself wasn't quite sure anymore. Her awareness seemed to be slipping from her. Unconsciousness claimed her as the door to the hall slammed open. The last she felt were warm arms slipping around her unresponsive body, and pulling her towards a warm chest. The warmth of a single teardrop slipped down her cheek. For the life of her, she couldn't tell if it was her own tear, or if it was Martin's. She would have liked to think that it was Martin's, after all, doesn't everyone wish for someone to cry for them?

_Et c'est la fin. _


End file.
